


this just might hurt a little

by aliaaaaaa



Series: webgottrash tumblr prompts [61]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Dystopian, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, Web Needs All The Cuddles He Can Get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliaaaaaa/pseuds/aliaaaaaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up in this small cell with nothing except for the chair he is sitting on and a large bucket in the corner and he is shivering. He still has his shirt and pants on but his shoes are missing, so does his jacket and there’s a thin collar around his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this just might hurt a little

**Author's Note:**

> For [fuckingmuseumnerd](http://fuckingmuseumnerd.tumblr.com/) who requested for Web getting tortured then rescued in [We’ll Create Our Own Heaven Dystopian AU verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7348855) and to make it really hurt/comfort and have Lieb give him cuddles and for that anon who requested for hurting Web and Lieb comforting him.

Web wakes up with a splitting headache that threatens to break his head in half.

He takes a deep breath and something sharp inside his chest rumbles through making him cough slightly. He moans softly, trying to roll onto his side but he can’t move his body. He blinks his eyes open and realizes that he’s not in his bed.

He looks around the unfamiliar place, taking in the small, windowless cell with a lightning bulb hanging from the low ceiling.

Then he remembers.

He remembers that he was walking from his apartment to the museum because he had promised Liebgott that they would meet there to discuss about the new information that he had gotten on Outlaws regulations.

He remembers when he rounded the corner, he was body slammed against the concrete wall, the hard impact squeezing his lungs tightly making it difficult to breathe.

He remembers struggling to run away, struggling to push the big, bulky body off of him. He remembers biting his attacker’s arm, hearing him grunted before the guy swung his meaty fist on Web’s forehead, momentarily blinded him before everything turned dark.

Now he wakes up in this small cell with nothing except for the chair he is sitting on and a large bucket in the corner and he is shivering. He still has his shirt and pants on but his shoes are missing, so does his jacket and there’s a thin collar around his neck.

He tells himself not to panic even though he can feel the familiar tendrils of anxiety creeping up on his spine, squeezing his lungs tighter, trying to cut the airways; making it harder for him to breathe.

He’s in _The Cell_.

 _The_ place that the Government built to place traitors for questioning and tortures.

He knows he is fucked for sure because from what he has heard of The Cell, no one ever escapes this place alive.

He whines low, trying to yell but before he can’t even get the first syllable out, the collar around his neck buzzes and he is vibrating with electricity coursing through his body, and fuuuuuuck it hurts like hell and his body _**will. not. stop. jerking.**_ and he tumbles down unto the ground with the chair’s leg digging into his thigh as he _smacks, smacks, smacks_ his forehead on the concrete floor; his mind telling his body to stop but his body cannot stop because it’s too painful, too painful, too painful and the electric still buzzes in him as he gasps silently, sucks in a sharp breath and spits blood out of his mouth. 

His legs keep jerking and he is crying, he knows he is crying because it’s too painful; his muscles twitches uncontrollably; they burn like he is being stabbed with flaming iron rod repeatedly and his face is wet with tears and blood dripping down from his mouth to the side of his face.

Lieb will laugh and sneer at him for having this thought but. _**he. wants. to. die.**_

His turns to his side, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. His head hurts – he thinks his forehead is bleeding – and he thinks that he might have peed his pants because it feels wet and sticky and his head will not stop spinning.

He grips the collar tightly, try to shake it loose but to no avail.

He tries it again anyway, hearing Lieb’s voice in his head telling him to _don’t be a pussy, Web! Yank it!_

He pulls it and the collar buzzes again.

*

_Web feels no pain in this dream._

_In this dream he feels the back of his neck burning pleasantly from the sun, he feels the wind carding its fingers in his hair, he feels the warm water soaking his feet._

_In this dream he is free._

_In this dream Lieb is sitting next to him, resting his head on Web’s shoulder, nuzzling his collarbone with the tip of his nose before Lieb presses a soft kiss on his neck._

_In this dream he can safely say he loves Lieb._

_The dream shifts and they are in the warehouse._

_Babe and Renee are sitting in the kitchen area, peeling the sack of potatoes together with Luz and Toye who grumble loudly about having to do all the chores around here._

_This is not a dream._

_It’s a memory._

_He is suspended in this memory, looking down at Lieb who is pressing his body against the wall, his fingers fumbling with the fly of his pants._

_“You’re already hard,” Lieb hisses through his teeth, blood dripping down from his nostril because he has sucker punched Lieb._

_They always do this._

_Always hurting one another, beating the shit out of each other because it’s better to bleed out and to have broken bones rather than having to deal with the soft emotions that pervade their hearts because those emotions are not allowed in this fucked up society._

_Yet, even with blood marring their fingers, even when bruises blooming on their skins; it’s so easy for Lieb to maneuver Web and press him against the wall. It’s so easy for Lieb to lean forward and to kiss Web hungrily, to caress Web’s jaw with his bloodied fingers, leaving streaks of blood on Web’s beautiful face like a mark._

_“Mine,” Lieb hisses as he pushes inside Web’s warmth, canting his hips forward to drive his cock deeper because he loves the sounds of his name tumbling out from Web’s obscenely red mouth._

_“Yours,” Web answers, always answers it back like that because despite the harsh words being exchanged between them, despite the punches being thrown; they care, they care, they care even when they are not supposed to because the world they live in is too cruel._

_But in this dream, in this memory, there is no pain; only Lieb’s warm mouth against his own, their blood mixing as they move together._

_But in this dream, in this memory, there is no pain; only Lieb’s voice whispering his name against his slick skin, burning him in the most delicious way._

*

When Web wakes up, he is curled up on the concrete floor, feeling cold and shivering until his teeth chatter.

His pants are soaked from his pee and his shirt is dirty from his blood and spits.

His head feels heavy and the dull throbbing pain has traveled to his eyes.

He tries to lay on his back but it’s too painful.

It’s too painful to even blink his eyes and when he does so, he moans lowly because his vision is skewed and everything is too bright.

His throat feels like he has swallowed jagged glasses.

He shuffles closer to the wall, broken sobs escape from his lips when he crawls on his knees because everything hurts; his muscles keep twitching and when he rubs his face, there are crusted blood on his fingers.

He doesn’t know how long he has been in The Cell.

The lack of window makes it hard for him to tell whether it’s day or night.

He might have been here for one whole day, or maybe it’s been 4 days, or maybe it’s been a week since he was captured and tortured.

He doesn’t keep count, too busy going in and out of consciousness that he loses track of time.

He only knows that every hour or so, there will be two guards coming to his cell, their faces obscured by the white balaclava.

The guards never talk to him.

They only pull him up by his hair and drag him to sit on the chair, ignoring his loud painful screaming.

(Sometimes they dunk his head in the bucket full of water until he passes out from lack of air.

Sometimes they kick him in his stomach, their hard boots digging into his flesh until blood bursting out from his mouth, dirtying the concrete floor.)

This time when the guards come, there is another person accompanying them and he recognizes this person, has seen him all the time when he goes to The Court to hear what new laws have been passed regarding the Outlaws.

“Cobb,” he hisses with difficulty, his chest burns with anger and pain.

“Still sane then?” Cobb sneers, his tone full of contempt as he kicks Web down.

He stays down, head bents low as he clutches at his side; breathing raggedly.

“Fuck you,” he hisses and Cobb laughs loudly, pacing in front of him like an animal waiting to pounce its prey.

Cobb comes closer to him and he flinches, tries hard to make his body to appear small but Cobb grabs his hair and tilts his face up.

“You’re a scumbag. A fucking dirty trash that should be shot in the head, Webster. Fuckin’ goes around to help the Outlaws,” Cobb spits the words in his face and Web looks into his eyes and stays grounded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, voice steady even though his heart is hammering in his chest.

Cobb pulls out a couple of photos and from the look of them, the photos are taken from the security cameras and in those photos he recognized Babe’s soft ginger hair and Renee’s blue scarf.

“You have associated yourself with the known leaders of the Outlaws and you still want to deny this. What a load of bullshit, Webster. You ought to be shot in the head,” Cobb says softly, pulling Web’s hair more and leaning forward to hiss in Web’s face. “But then where’s the fun in that right, Webster? One bullet and you’re dead. I rather have you beg for me to stop,” Cobb mocks, smiling cruelly when he pushes Web hard to the floor.

“Tell me where they are and I let you live,” Cobb says quietly, wiping the blood on his hand with a clean handkerchief before throwing the dirty cloth on Web’s face.

Web tilts his head to the side, his mouth opens as he considers his options. Then he licks his dry lips and signals with his head for Cobb to come closer.

When Cobb leans in, Web whispers, “Go to hell.” and headbutts Cobb right in his face making Cobb stumbles back, clutching at his bloody nose.

One of the guards presses something in his hand and the collar buzzes loudly as electric once again coursing through his body.

He hears Cobb muffled voice yelling at him, _You go the fuck to hell, Webster!_ before he passes out.

*

_He remembers._

_His mother used to call him Kenyon instead of David because she loves the name because it’s unique. His mother always treats him like he is something special, a unique collectible trinket._

_He remembers._

_His father always called him “Boy” in this too sharp tone that never fails to make him shiver in fear. His father who always looks at him like he is a disappointment._

_He remembers._

_His Liebgott calling him “Web” from the first time they met when he was caught trying to sneak into the warehouse. Liebgott who always makes him feel conflicted with his own feelings; treading back and forth between love and hate that somehow the line has blurred._

_He remembers._

_The way Lieb utters his name when they are alone; when they are having soft moments just between them. How Lieb sounds like when Web presses a kiss on his cheek._

_He remembers._

_The way Lieb yells his name when they argue; when they hurt each other with their fists and their words._

_“Webster!”_

_He remembers._

_“Web!”_

*

He wakes up to the loud banging from the outside of his cell door.

He hears gunshots ringing loudly and voices grunting in pain and the cell door is yanked open forcefully and two guards step in, one of them walk towards him and the other stands at the door; rifle on his shoulder.

He blinks his eyes slowly, licks his dry lips and coughs.

His neck burns and his fingers keep twitching.

The guard stops and kneels down in front of him, his fingers wrap around Web’s forearm; trying to hoist his body up.

“Web, c’mon! We don’t have much time!” One of the guard hisses, pulling his arm up as he moans pathetically because his muscles hurt.

“Web, I swear to God, we only have few minutes before this place is swarmed with the Police Squad,” the guard talks again, faster this time and he knows that annoyed tone anywhere with or without the balaclava.

“Lieb?” He whispers, focusing his eyes into the soft brown eyes that are looking back at him desperately.

“Web, we gotta move,” Lieb replies, kneeling closer to wrap his arm around Web’s shoulder, the other hand wraps around Web’s torso.

“Hurts,” Web answers, his body sagging heavily against Lieb as he is being pulled up to stand and he thinks that this is a dream.

It’s a dream, a vivid dream where his body hurts everywhere yet Lieb is here to save him.

“It’s not a dream, Web. I’m really here to save your ass,” Lieb says softly, pulling him closer when he pulls away.

Web yanks at the collar around his neck and waits for the inevitable electric buzz to course through his body but nothing happens so he pulls it harder.

“Off,”  Web whispers, making a show of pulling at the collar and Lieb turns to the other guard and hollers, “Lip! A little help here!”

Lipton, Web realizes now because no one else is built like that in the warehouse, comes forward, pulls out a steel scissors from his breast pocket and snips at the thin collar around his neck.

Once the collar is off, he fingers the delicate flesh around it and hears Lieb curses a soft “fuck”.

“Bad?” Web asks, his word slurring slightly because he is so tired and his muscles are protesting from being jostled around too much.

“You’ll be okay, Web. We will get you patch up,” Lip answers softly and Web grins at his motherly tone and he groans loudly when Lip hoists his sore arm up to wrap around Lip’s broad shoulder.

They walk out from the small cell with his arms pathetically hanging from Lieb and Lip’s shoulders and every step he takes is an assault to his body but they have to move fast so he grits his teeth, bites his lower lip until he tastes blood again and drags his legs.

He doesn’t know how long they have to walk along the gray hallway to the exit or if someone from the security room has seen them and press the panic button but when he is outside, with the sun shining down on his face, he collapses and Lip manages to catch him before he hits the ground and places him on the soft cushion of the van and he thinks to himself he is free.

*

He wakes up to the soft pillow underneath his head and he blinks his eyes and takes in his surrounding.

He is back at the warehouse.

He waits for the pain to swarm him but none comes and he breathes softly.

He lifts his left hand to feel at the thin collar only to touch coarse material of bandages and he breathes out easily; trying to lift his other hand only for it to be gripped firmly by someone.

When he looks to his right, Lieb is already looking at him; his face creased from being pressed on the sheet and he looks sleepy.

“Web?”

He doesn’t answer because his throat still feels sore but he frees his hand from Lieb’s hold and cards his fingers in Lieb’s soft hair and just feels them.

He misses this.

Misses the freedom of being able to touch Lieb whenever he can and his face must have shown something because Lieb moves closer, presses his head into his palm firmer as he climbs into the bed.

“Careful,” he whispers and Lieb nods softly, carefully lying on his side as he throws the blanket off of from Web and covers Web with his body instead.

Lieb is hugging Web gently, hooking his leg against Web’s, gently rests his palm on Web’s chest.

They are snuggling and Web feels something in his chest blooms rapidly when Lieb nuzzles his cheek, kissing the bruised flesh tenderly.

Web presses his palm on Lieb’s back, gliding it up and down; tracing patterns as Lieb nuzzles his cheek.

“I was so worried,” Lieb whispers and he feels Lieb grips his arm tight when he shakes his head.

“I thought you were dead, Web,” Lieb continues and he feels his cheek getting wet and he realizes that Lieb is crying.

He pulls Lieb closer, kisses the top of Lieb’s head and inhales him in.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Lieb murmurs and Web tilts Lieb’s face up to look at him and Lieb’s eyes are red and his eyelashes are wet and he looks so beautifully broken like this that Web leans in to press a soft kiss unto Lieb’s mouth.

“Love you,” Web whispers because it’s the truth and because he might not have the chance to tell Lieb how he feels next time, so he’s telling Lieb now.

And he expects Lieb to reel back, to climb off of him and get out from the room to leave him alone.

But Lieb smiles back at him, all soft and tender and he remembers the first time he sees Lieb, remembers the instant attraction that makes him want to be around Lieb all the time.

Lieb kisses him, soft press of mouth against mouth and he trails up his kisses on Web’s cheek, on the tip of Web’s nose and on his forehead and murmurs back a soft, “I love you.”

They stay that way, being wrapped around each other, for once not fighting, for once they welcome the soft feelings in their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> first posted on [webgottrash](http://webgottrash.tumblr.com/post/147296536737/this-just-might-hurt-a-little)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!


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